Black Stone Cherry
by YouSentMeFlying
Summary: The way she felt about herself was morbid, indescribable. She didn't know how to deal with the overwhelming thoughts running through her head; she wanted to feel numb - emotionless. Anything was better than this dark cloud of distress and torment hovering over her.
1. walk alone

**I know I haven't posted anything new in a very long time, but I thought I should get back into writing fanfiction before I stopped writing altogether, which I didn't want to do. I've been having really awful writer's block again lately, so I'm glad I can finally try to push it aside and work on a fresh project for a while. First things first, I will not be updating any of my other stories. I feel like I'm always neglecting them, and I've done almost everything I could to save those, but my brain won't function properly to concentrate on those plots any longer. I suppose I just have issues with finishing projects I've started. xD However, I still know how **_**Blood Bound**_** and **_**Special Death**_** were going to end, so if you want to know anything about the turnout, you can just tweet me (MunroCArmy on twitter). But I know for a fact that this fic will be a successful and completed story; I dived into it with nothing but confidence and ambition, which is very rare for me. But I should let you know that's it's obviously far from being a fluff piece. This is a story about three friends – Imogen, Eli and Adam – trying to survive their high school lives together with way too many twists and turns in the road. It does start off with a brief flashback so you're not confused. (The flashback ends with the second change of setting.) Without any further ado, here is the first chapter… right after the warning paragraph. **

**Warnings for this story: Sexual themes and references, drug/alcohol abuse, strong language, and violent self-mutilation. **

_Grey smoke filled her lungs; she was in a heavy haze and couldn't grasp anything that was going on around her. Bright orange and dull shades of red intermixed in the blazing flames that surrounded her; she collapsed to the ground, with the sight of her frightful mother being the last thing she saw. Her childhood home was now up in flames, her parents already vanished somewhere in the warm intensity of the fire. The only two people she's ever loved were gone. All of her personal items were gone. Everything she's ever known was gone. The beautifully hand painted portraits she spent hours working on; everything from the expansive DVD collection to the fragile antiques on every side table had been turned into ashes – she only hoped her dog, Volta, made it out alive. _

_Every inch of her body was burning in such unbearable torment while she was knocked under – paralyzed in her own skin – she demanded not to survive another minute in this cradle of hell. She begged God – if there were such a source – to end her life here before it had gotten any more painful, but to save her parents from this calamity; they could deal without her, but she could never live on her own. _

_Screams_. Blood curdling screams resounded through the dimly lit hallways of the cold and moist hospital floor. She was having another nightmare; the nightmares seemed to be more and more illustrative each day, and it was like she couldn't escape from the memory of the evening of the fire. After she was left unconscious on the floor of her destroyed home, she was whisked out of the building by several firefighters who were risking their lives to save hers. Her parents, however, never made it out, and had been lost deep into the lake of fire for far too long.

She couldn't sleep because of these dreams being so vivid, but she didn't have the choice after being forced to take her daily pills which made her a bit woozy and out of it. She treated her days as nights, and nights how her days should have been spent – her sleeping schedule was completely turned around. She just wanted to go home, but she knew that wouldn't be possible since she didn't have a home. Her parents were her home. And they were no longer there for her.

_She_ _was Imogen Moreno_, a misunderstood soul who would rather be dead than alive; she didn't have a place in this world and never felt as though she were needed or loved. She hated herself. She believed the easiest way to deal with the pain would be by placing a razor to her wrist, slashing out all of her agony and anguish until it all came rushing out in a river of warm, red liquid. The darkness had taken her; it had eaten her alive and swallowed her whole. What was there to live for? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And who was she trying to impress by being strong and not ending it all? It certainly wasn't herself.

"That woman has been shouting ever since I got here!" her older roommate exclaimed from the doorway as a crowd of nurses showered into the room. "I want her sedated for the rest of my stay here. I came to get better, dammit; this girl has issues up the wazoo! I would just like to nap and watch my programs without all the darn hollering!"

One of the several nurses stopped to talk to the older woman; the others went to attend to Imogen who was still somehow in a deep sleep. "We're doing all we can, ma'am," the male nurse informed her. "You're going up for surgery tomorrow morning so we'll be finding a new room for you on the third floor shortly."

"But I can't go without my walker! Where is the thing?"

"No!" Imogen shrieked deafeningly; venom was pulsating through her thick, warm veins, and tears were staining her bandaged face. She was torn up pretty badly from the fire, which only happened less than two weeks ago. Her doctors were planning on sending her home within the next few days, though if she kept up these unnecessary outbursts, she would be forced to stay committed for further observation. Her torso shot up in bed – she was wide awake now – but the leather restraints tied around her wrists forced her to jerk back down onto the hospital bed; she continued to struggle and kick her legs at the foot of the bed with anger and fear.

No one in the room knew what was going on in Imogen's head at present, not even herself. She just wanted to get out of this place; they were only making her feel way worse than she already was – she's always been afraid of hospitals and doctors since she was a little kid. "I need my daddy!" she sobbed, nurses held her down further into the bed while a doctor hurriedly filled a large syringe with some sort of clear liquid. "Where's my daddy? I need my daddy!"

"Ms. Moreno, you need to calm down or we're going to have to give you an anesthetic to put you under, alright? The needle is pretty intense and painful." She continued to kick, bite, and punch as much as possible with her arms tied to the bed. The doctor raised the needle in front of her face, which only made her even more skirmish. "I don't want to give this to you, but I have to if you keep acting this way. Are you going to behave?" He was speaking calmly to her as an attempt to get through to her. The only thing that made her settle down was the possibility of having a needle shoved three inches under her skin, which she couldn't even tolerate the thought of it happening.

Imogen's voice cracked when she spoke with such a strong emotion of what seemed to be hopelessness, "I'm so scared. It hurts." She was so close to giving up on everything, on life. However, she never dared to mention this to any of her doctors, who would only want to lock her up in a Psych Ward for having thoughts of ending her life. She would much rather suffer than have several doctors feed her numbing antibiotics and poke her with more and more needles than the essential. She was too terrified to get help from anyone.

xxx

"Imogen," a gentle voice cooed from her bedside. After nearly a month in the hospital, she's gotten the okay from her doctor to be discharged to finally go home that day. Since her home had burned down to the ground, one of her closest friends was kind enough to offer the guest room at his place for her to stay.

Most of her friends didn't even bother to visit her while she was locked up in that cold, horrible place which, conspicuously, hurt her a bit. Adam came up almost every day after school and Imogen would sneak him some of the food she was being served for lunch, since she never felt hungry anymore. He would fill her in on the weekly drama down at Degrassi and bring her homework for each of her classes; he was a good friend. Imogen loved Adam like a brother. And as far as she was concerned, he _was_ her baby brother; they grew up together and were never distant from each other for too long of a period.

Then there was Eli, who was currently attempting to wake her up from an afternoon nap she'd taken. He was one of the most generous and loving friends Imogen could ever ask for – hell, he was more than that. Eli was amazing and was always there for the poor girl whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on. As a matter of fact, he was the only person who made her forget how horrible she'd been feeling after being placed in the hospital.

After she was fully awake, packed, and dismissed, she and Eli made their way back to his house where she would be staying for recovery. Because of the fire, it seemed like all of her family members blamed her for what had happened, since she always had a fascination with arsonists. As a kid, Imogen would always mess around with matches and lighters, setting some of her toys ablaze until there was nothing left of them but a puddle of melted and roasted plastic. The only person who knew she _did not_ start that house fire was herself, but she couldn't seem to convince anyone that she had absolutely nothing to do with the disaster.

Needless to say, all of her aunts and uncles had turned down her previous begs and attempts of wanting to move in with one of them. Which is what led her here, positioned in the middle of Eli's bed with the most utterly blank expression drawn upon her face.

"I can help you unpack your room if you would like," Eli suggested quietly. He never knew how to act around her after the accident. She seemed so distant and short-tempered, rather than how enthusiastic she used to be. It was like she died along with her parents. He was both scared of, and for her; he was afraid of what might happen to her if he wasn't always right there at her side, holding her hand and guiding her through this long, gloomy tunnel of melancholy.

"I can do it later," she muttered. "Not much left to unpack anyway so it shouldn't take too long."

Eli shifted all of his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around his messy room, afraid to look her straight in the eyes. She looked pale and sick; she was perceived as almost _dead _to the world. "CeCe, uh, put some clean sheets on the bed. _Pink_, I think."

"I hate pink." But that was a lie. Everything that brushed passed her lips was a fucking lie. Unmistakably pragmatic.

He glanced at her full of confusion. _"I thought pink was your favourite colour."_

"Well, now I hate it!" she snapped. "Just get off my back, will ya?"

"Alright." Eli jolted up his hands in defense, his eyebrows raised. "Just trying to stir up a conversation."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't. I don't feel too well."

"You know you can talk to me, Immy…" he made his way over to sit on the bed beside the broken girl. He noticed she had ripped off her bandages to leave her scorched skin visible for the world to see. It looked pretty painful, but he didn't want to suggest anything else that might leave her even more troubled; all he wanted was to help her through this journey. He wanted her to recover from this as quickly as possible.

Eli couldn't imagine what it would feel like to watch both of your parents – whom you loved so much – die right in front of your eyes. Knowing there's nothing you can do to save them must be so heartbreaking; that numb feeling of dissatisfaction in yourself, like you've let them down too. "I'll always be right here, whenever you need me." he reached for her hand with a small smile, and intertwined their fingers together ever so gently, avoiding the risk of hurting her even more so than she already was.

He was going to take care of his best friend, even if that meant putting his own health in jeopardy in the process.

**As most stories are, this chapter is a little shorter than the following chapters will be. On a stranger note, doesn't the title of this fanfiction make you a bit hungry? It sounds like a delicious ice cream flavour! Or maybe I was just starving when I chose this title out of the other 14 choices… **

**I'll start on the second chapter later tonight and hopefully I can shake off this writer's block. But there's nothing wrong with getting a little motivation by the readers who leave reviews. ;)**

**Until then, I must go celebrate my daddy's birthday and get a bellyful of chocolate cake. **


	2. hallucinogen

**I'm supposed to be doing Psychology coursework right now rather than updating a fanfiction. I couldn't help but to take a quick break from all of that to speedily finish this chapter since I'm already way behind on my writing. **

The environment of the small town house was foggy and sticky. Drunken teenagers running around and smashing things like hooligans made the air thick, hard to breathe. Just walking through the front door sent a rush of herbal essences straight into her face. This scent was very distinct; a bit of a wooded odour with a hint of spice – she's never smelled this pungent smoke before, but automatically she knew what was being passed around at this party. Coming to her first high school blowout alone may not have been one of her greatest ideas, but at least she had more room to explore new things.

Party scenes were never her forte since the beginning, though now that she had nothing else to lose, she figured she would go for it; enjoy life while she was still around. Imogen assumed her new "interest" would sort of numb all of the pain she was in. She was tired of crying herself to sleep each night, and she was so sick of the fake smiles and laughs.

No matter how much she wanted to tell someone about the way she'd been feeling, a part of her was too afraid to speak up about it. _She didn't want to express any sign of weakness. _What if everyone told her he was just overreacting? Or what if her only two close friends left her because they couldn't deal? Or could something worse happen? If everyone still blamed her for the house fire, would anyone even be on her side?

Imogen didn't want to think about the endless list of possibilities. She just wanted to feel better. Sitting and moping around the house every second of every day certainly wasn't going to make these sad feelings go away – she needed to explore different lifestyles, get out there more. Maybe an insane night out was just what she needed, and she absolutely wasn't going to argue. Fuck the rules.

The food and drink tables caught her attention almost immediately, and of course she headed over there to attend to the goods that were sitting out.

Imogen never once tasted even a hint of alcohol, so this night would indisputably be something interesting.

She started out slow first, with a small can of chilled beer. The taste was very tangy and stale; however, she grew a bit more used to it with each sip she took.

Tonight was all about experimentation and distractions, so she reached for a bottle of Vodka next. Another bad choice for the evening; if she couldn't handle a simple can of _Molson_, what made her believe she was able to take down the Vodka? Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as she always thought it would be. The liquid was room temperature and burned its way down her throat pleasurably, which she seemed to enjoy. At this rate, she might as well finish off the entire bottle and be done with it.

And sure enough, she'd downed the whole drink within a half hour at most. The rest of the night, from this moment on, would be pretty damn easy for her.

What could the young girl experiment with next?

She glanced around the busy room that was filled with a mixture of several different hazes dancing around in the air. Her head was spinning out of control, her stomach churning as her body collapsed back onto a cool leather couch. What was she doing? All of this was too much for her in just one night, yet she didn't seem to regret her partying decision.

The room felt like it was closing in on her; it got smaller and smaller as more partiers entered the house. Most of the faces there were unrecognizable; however, she spotted a few faces from the crowd that she remembered from a few of her classes. What were they all doing here on a school night? Some of these kids were top students and should have been at home, resting up for the morning to follow. But who were she to judge? She didn't know much about the whole house party concept, and looking at those students lowly would only make her a hypocrite. She couldn't count how many times she'd acted recklessly when all of her priorities should have still remained at the top of her list.

Suddenly, a rush of energy burst through her veins and she was resurrected from whatever heavy trance she was lifted into. Assuming it was an adrenaline rush, she raised back to her feet slowly; everything was spiraling and distorted. The heavy bass of the booming dance music echoed through her ears, though she didn't hear anything; she was too consumed with the ecstasy within her to be aware of everything going on around her.

As the evening continued on, she found herself popping unfamiliar pills and choking down more and more foreign beverages, being attended to by a stranger named Dylan who was helping her discover new things. A tour guide, if you will.

The boyish looking bloke – who seemed to be about Imogen's age – approached her while she was off dancing in a corner somewhere. He let his hands explore up and down her silky, smooth skin for more than a few minutes before she'd even come to acknowledge his presence_._ Being skeptical, of course, she moved her hips along with the same rotation of Dylan's; their body heat wrapped around each other as their physical dancing became more and more electrified.

The both of them were lost in their own minds, being lifted somewhere far away; slowly, Imogen finally worked up the courage to let her gentle voice shudder through her moist lips. "I've always wondered what it felt like to be carefree. It's like I'm floating up in the air somewhere… just hovering. And everything around me is moving backwards – in reverse. You know what I mean?" Dylan pressed his forehead against hers softy with a small nod of his head. "I'm glad one of us does," she giggled and stared into his glittering eyes for a long extension of time. The stunning spark of his spheres gaped back into her chocolate ones, a devious plan brewing. Dylan made no effort to attempt hiding his plan for the girl; instead he just went for it.

Their fingers intertwined with each other's, and Dylan shoved their way through the crowd of people to make their way to one of the back bedrooms. Imogen's never inhaled so much second hand smoke into her weak lungs before tonight; it was a bit overwhelming, but something tingled warmly inside of her.

Once they were finally alone in the bedroom together, Dylan lead the petite girl over to the king sized bed at the far end of the room. She was too out of it to understand what was going on, but she didn't seem to act on fear – this was one of the best nights of her life and she wasn't going to object to anything. If she were to die after being put into an alcoholic coma, she didn't have a care in the world. The thought of that possibility didn't even send a shock of anxiety through her body like those irrational thoughts usually would. She felt great.

She plopped down onto the bed heavily, Dylan at her side with his fingers playing around in her thick, warm hair. "I like you, Imogen," the boy smirked. "I've had a lot of fun with you tonight."

"Oh no!" she gasped loudly. "You're leaving already? Please don't leave me! I need someone to play with." Her words were drawn out and her vowels were slurred; Dylan could barely make out a single thing she was saying. He's never seen someone so trashed in his life.

He shushed her, his index finger pressed up to her lips that were oh-so-soft against his clammy skin. "I know you've been having a great time tonight, so I am going to make your night even better. Better than you could ever imagine."

Imogen's voice had lowered down now, but she moved her face closer to his, as if they were telling each other secrets – anyone could have been listening in to their conversation. "You mean like sex?" she whispered; the heat of her breath radiated over Dylan's skin and made his whole body jerk in a shiver.

"No."

"Because we can do it if you want. I don't mind."

"That's not –"

"You're pretty hot, I mean, I wouldn't mind giving it up to you. I wouldn't have the chance to lose it to anyone else."

With a low laugh, he gently wrapped his hand around the hind of her neck; his thumb rolled around her collarbone through a graceful touch. "What I want to give you is a little more intense than sex." With his freehand, he reached down into his pocket to retrieve a little black holder that was no larger than the size of an average wallet, rummaging around to find what he was looking for.

She assumed he was pulling out something like a stack of money, but why would he be giving a stranger money, especially when he wasn't as out of his mind as she was.

"Here." In the palm of his hand lay what looked to be a thick piece of paper with the painting of a neon unicorn smack dab in the middle of it. As Imogen looked a little closer, the paper seemed to be sliced into several nickel-sized squares. She's never seen one of these things before but it definitely intrigued her quite a bit. "It's all I have left. Take one now and save the rest for later."

"What is it?" she questioned him full of confusion as she felt the squares being placed into her folded fist.

With a grin, he spoke, "think of it as candy. It doesn't taste very sweet, but it still gives you that feeling of being jolted in an electric chair while riding the wildest roller coaster imaginable!"

She cringed at just the thought of it. "Sounds painful," the naïve girl remarked. Ever since Imogen was little, she's been terrified of roller coasters. As for the electric chair, she obviously wasn't a big fan of those either. She wasn't too fond of having several electric volts being shocked through her rattling bones.

Without her noticing, Dylan managed to sneak off one of the corner squares to lift it up to the opening of her lips. "Open wide, beautiful."

She followed his commands without questioning any further. She knew how dangerous this could be, but she didn't seem to care about any health risks at the moment; the only thing she cared about was having a little bit of fun for once.

Dylan dropped the square onto the tip of Imogen's tongue and informed her it should take about an hour for it to start kicking in.

This has been one hell of a night. And it was just getting started.

xxx

The remembrance of the previous night was nothing but a huge blur; Imogen had been knocked out cold for several hours after passing out sometime after seven in the morning. The last thing she remembered was coming home to make herself a fruit smoothie.

"Immy, I brought you your schoolwork," Eli called out from the hallway. Since the accident, Imogen was told to stay on bed rest for no more than two weeks after getting out of the hospital. She didn't mind missing a few days of school, but she would drive herself crazy by lying in bed for several days at a time.

Eli placed Imogen's books on her bed while Adam stayed downstairs to check if it was okay for him to stay over for dinner that night. Adam was almost like a second son to Bullfrog and CeCe, and they loved having his company – it was a little less quiet with Adam around. "Why are you in the bathtub?" Eli questioned as he looked down at the girl from the bathroom doorway. She didn't move an inch, so he snaked in to investigate. "Are you dead?" he lifted her heavy hand and let it fall back to her side with a loud thump.

Finally, this made her stir in her sleep until she peaked up at him with a groan. Her temples were pounding along with the rhythm of her heartbeat; this ache radiated to her cheekbone and over the top of her head – the bright fluorescent lights sure weren't helping either. "Where am I?"

"You're at home in the bathroom. If you were trying to take a bath, I think you did it wrong," he joked. "Where were you last night anyway? You must've come home after I left for school."

"Dude, your parents said I can stay over tonight," Adam praised as he swaggered into the bathroom. "What happened to you?" Adam's attention was averted to Imogen who was still motionless in the bathtub. She lay limp like a lazy walrus that was washed up onto shore. "You look like hell."

"Thank you for that, Adam."

"No problem, Kesha."

Eli kneeled down beside her to raise his fingers up to the corner of her mouth, where it looked as though her lipstick had been smeared across her reddened cheek. He could tell that she was hungover just by glancing at her briefly. He knew his best friend well enough to know that she would never get herself into a mess like this. He was beginning to worry about how much she was going to screw her life over because of this house fire.

"Want me to carry you to bed? You could use a couple more hours of rest."

Imogen shook her head lazily in response, muttering something about promising Adam she would watch his favourite show with him later tonight.

"_American Horror Story_ isn't on until ten. Eli's right, a little nap couldn't hurt."

**Be sure to check in toward the end of the month for a new (cheesy) Halloween one shot! :) my mother and me decided to co-write it together; we're almost halfway through the writing process before we can edit anything, but it's looking good so far. I shall end the next chapter in a cliffhanger!**


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